Facts of Life
by Ai Tennshi
Summary: People live and die, can love or hate, can be happy or sad. These are facts of life, as Iroh knew. But above all, people can always choose. So where had he gone wrong teaching this to Zuko?


_Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable from Avatar: The Last Airbender, books one and two._

**Facts of Life**

People are born. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. Every person is born into the world through the means of two others. Birth is a miracle of life—Iroh could remember his son's birth, and the delight, affection, and pure contentment he had felt the first time he laid eyes on Lu Ten. It was not only his own child, either; when Zuko and Azula had been born, the same feelings had overwhelmed him.

People die. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. What is born must die, and since all people are born, all people must die. Death was the thing that counterbalanced birth, keeping events in perspective and placing a limit on life, so that it might be enjoyed above all. When news of Lu Ten's death had reached him, the sorrow he had felt had left him sobbing quietly into his pillow for weeks. He had learned to fear the death of those he loved, and when Zuko was exiled, he had rushed to follow, for how could he live on if Zuko, the only other left in the world whom he loved as he had loved Lu Ten and his wife, met the same fate as Lu Ten?

People can be happy. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. He felt happy when he married his wife, saw Lu Ten for the first time, saw Zuko, saw Azula… But smaller things could bring happiness too. During exile, Iroh had rarely seen any cause to be sorrowful. He had tea, he could window shop, and there were plenty of soldiers to play Pai-Sho with. He had his lotus tile. And he was watching over Zuko, the nephew whom he loved very much. So he was happy. Happiness was something he wanted Zuko to find, too. He wanted to see Zuko know the joys of marriage and a child's birth just as much as the small joys that can be found everyday, if one would only look.

People can be sad. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. When Lu Ten had died, when Ozai had proven to care nearly nothing for him, when he had discovered Azula's cruel nature, when Ursa had vanished without a trace, when Ozai had banished Zuko, all had filled him with sadness. And everyday he had been filled with more as he watched Zuko in pain, tormented by the knowledge, deep in his heart, that his father truly cared nothing for him.

People can love. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. Iroh had loved his wife and Lu Ten, and now he had Zuko to love. Love was a wondrous thing that filled one with a selfless desire to keep another in as good a state as they could be. Yet love seemed painfully neglected in the world. Had Ozai no love for his only son? Had Azula no love for her very brother? Zuko, he knew, adored his father—a love that never ceased to torture him, for it would never be returned. Love could be wondrous, he had found with his wife, but Lu Ten's death and Zuko's experiences had taught him that it could also be cruel. Still, Iroh felt, if everyone in the world chose to love, how wondrous would the world be then?

People can hate. That is a fact of life, Iroh knew. Iroh had once hated his brother for everything that he had done. But that had been before he had realized that to hate was to _choose_ to hate—and hate was what had made Ozai so heartless and cruel. So Iroh discarded his hate and learned to think only of love. Zuko, Iroh noted, had an amazing capacity to love. But the boy never made use of this capacity, simply because he idolized his hatred-filled father and chose hate over love. Hate, Iroh thought bitterly, was what destroyed the world. And so he had given in and chosen to hate one thing: hate.

People can choose. This is a fact of life, Iroh knew. People can choose to love or hate, and often to be happy or sad. The only things that people are unable to choose are life and death. People can bring early deaths upon themselves if they so choose, but death will come anyway, and no one can choose not to die. He had a choice between being sad of all the tragedy in his life, or being happy of the little joys to be found everyday without fail: Iroh chose to be happy. Zuko wavered between, sometimes happy, but often choosing to be sad, so bitter was he over his losses. He had a choice between loving all that were precious in his life or hating those that caused him horrible pain: Iroh chose to love. Zuko wavered between, sometimes loving and sometimes hating, and Iroh hoped that when the time came, he would settle on love.

Iroh tried to teach Zuko these facts of life, but perhaps he had gone wrong somewhere. Zuko had chosen hatred over love, and in doing so, perhaps sadness over happiness. He had followed Zuko into exile, loved him with all of his heart, and tried to teach him the ways of love and happiness: that they are everywhere, and can be seized easily if one only just makes an effort to see them. He had failed. Zuko had not loved him—or perhaps he had, but loved Ozai more.

The thought made Iroh smile grimly in his prison. Though he refused to hate, he simply could not love his brother. Ozai was terrible and cruel—and never loved anyone. It was ironic, Iroh thought, that he should wish so strongly that Zuko didn't love Ozai when he so firmly believed that all should love.

But Iroh could in no way wonder why. The answer to why he did not want Zuko to love Ozai was a simple one. It was not jealousy or bitterness, though those would have been the most obvious answers. No—it was because Iroh loved Zuko. Loving one who will not return that love is a painful thing; a pain that Iroh had experienced firsthand when Zuko had betrayed him. Even so, Iroh continued to love; so it was the idea that Zuko should experience this very same pain when he finally realized that his father simply did not love him was one that wrenched his heart and tore it in two.

If only Ozai could choose to love Zuko. But Ozai was too far gone—he was sunken so deeply into hate that he no longer even realized that there was anything else. His son was, to him, a useful tool if he followed orders, and a meddlesome obstacle if he did not.

The thought made bitterness well up in Iroh, triggered by his love for Zuko. For a moment, through no choice of his own, the bitterness became something else and he found himself hating his brother. Iroh blinked, then smiled miserably. It seemed that love triggered hate, and so the only way one could escape it was to choose _not_ to hate.

_If only hate would trigger love,_ Iroh thought, _perhaps there would still be hope for Ozai._ But it did not, and hoping or wishing it was so would be futile.

Iroh sighed, helpless now that there was only one thing that he could do: he went on loving Zuko.

_Author's Note: Right. It's been over half a year since that finale, and I'm still fuming at Zuko. (Betraying Uncle Iroh! You moron, Zuko!) So I thought that I'd write this, if just to vent out my feelings a bit._


End file.
